The Bomb Vessel

Dropping below by the forward hatch he ran into Lieutenant Tumilty who was no longer his usual flippant self but wore an expression of stern concentration. He was also uncharacteristically formal.

'Good morning sir. My preparations are all but complete. If you wish I will show you the arrangements I have made.' They walked aft through the hold where Virago's four score seamen had lived and messed, past the remaining cables and the space cleared for the artillerymen.

At the after end a hatch opened into the stern quarters giving access to the magazine under Drinkwater's cabin. Tumilty held out his arm.

'No further sir, without felt boots.'

'Of course,' said Drinkwater, almost colliding with Tumilty.

'Hite and Trussel are filling the carcases, the empty shells, with white powder. Hobbs here is sentry and will assist if the action goes on long…' Drinkwater nodded at another artillery-man who carried not a fusil, in such dangerous proximity to the magazine, but a truncheon. 'Once filled, the shells come through here to the after shell room.' Tumilty turned forward, indicating the huge baulks of timber below the after, thirteen-inch, mortar that formed a cavity in which the shells were lodged. Above his head a small hatch had been opened, admitting a patch of light below.

'We, or rather Rogers's men, whip up the charged shells through that hatch to the mortar above…'

'What about fuses?' asked Drinkwater.

'As you see the shells are all wooden plugged for storage. I cut the fuses on the fo'c's'le. It's clear of seamen once Matchett quits fooling with his anchors; he'll be busy aft here, whipping up the shells. I rig leather dodgers to protect the fuses from sparks. The sergeant or myself will cut the fuses. This controls the time of explosion. Time of flight, and hence range, is decided by the charge in the chamber of the mortar. As I was saying, the fuse is of special composition and burns four tenths of an inch per minute. A thousand yard flight takes 2.56 seconds, so you see, Nat'aniel, 'tis a matter for a man of science, eh?'

'Indeed, Tom, it is… what of the ten-inch shells forward?'

'They go up in shell hooks. Now, I've had all hands at mortar stations twice in your absence and they all know what to do. I think we'll take it easy to begin with but we should be firing more than one shell a minute from each gun when we get the range.'

'What about the dangers of fire? I understand they're considerable…'

'Mr Jex's party are well briefed. We've wet tarpaulins handy to go over the side, buckets and tubs o' water all over the deck and in the tops… sure an' 'twill be like nothing you've ever seen in your life, Nat'aniel,' Tumilty smiled, recovering some of his former flippancy.

'Sir! Sir!' Quilhampton scrambled over a pile of rope and caught hold of Drinkwater's arm. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir, but Mr Rogers says to tell you that the admiral's hoisted Number 66 and the preparative, sir, 'General order to weight an' the leeward ships first.''

'Thank you, Mr Q, I'll be up directly.'

Drinkwater arrived on the poop, reached in his tail pocket and whipped out his Dollond glass. Already the fleet was in motion. On their larboard bow, just beyond the bomb vessel Volcano, the lovely Agamemnon was hoisting her topsails. Edgar was already under way, her yards being braced round and the canvas stiffening with wind. Water appeared white at her bow and somewhere a shout and three cheers were called for. Several of the ships cheered their consorts as the naval might of Great Britain got under way. Drinkwater's fatigue, aches, pains and worries vanished as his heart- beat quickened and the old familiar exciting tingle shot down his spine.

They might be dead in an hour but, by God, this was a moment worth living for! He tried to mask his idiotic enthusiasm and turned aft to begin pacing the poop in an effort to repress his emotions and appear calm.

Bunting rose and broke from Elephant's yard arms as hard-pressed signalmen sweated to convey Nelson's last minute orders to the ships. Happily in the confusion none applied to the bomb vessels.

'Agamemnon's in trouble, sir,' remarked Rogers, nodding in the direction of the sixty-four.

'Damned current's too much for her, she ain't got enough headway…'

'She'll fall athwart Volcano's hawse if she ain't careful…'

'And ours by God! Veer cable Mr Matchett, veer cable!' They could see men on Volcano's fo'c's'le hurriedly letting out cable as the battleship tried to clear the little bomb vessel while the current set her rapidly north.

They watched helplessly as the big ship crabbed awkwardly across their own bow, failed to weather the mark vessel, Cruizer, and brought up to her anchor on the wrong side of the Middle Ground. Within minutes a flat-boat was ordered to her assistance, to carry out another anchor and enable her to haul herself to windward.

Edgar, with Mr Briarly at the con, began to draw ahead unsupported and bunting broke out again from Elephant's yards as Nelson ordered Polyphemus into the gap, followed by the old Isis. Drinkwater watched the next ship with some interest.

Bellona followed Isis, crossing close to Cruizer's bowsprit as she turned into the King's Deep. Drinkwater wondered if her pilot could see his marks and transits through the smoke of Edgar's fire as she engaged the Provesteenen, the most southerly Danish ship round which he and Hardy had sounded the night before. Beyond Isis Drinkwater could see Désirée which had got under way early and was already anchored and swinging to her spring to open a raking fire on the Provesteenen.

Russell, an old Camperdown ship and well-known to Drinkwater, was close behind Bellona, and Elephant's topmen were aloft as the admiral's flagship moved forward to take station astern of Russell. Ardent and Bligh's Glatton were setting sail.

'God's bones,' muttered Drinkwater, 'I think they are ignoring Briarly's advice.' Bellona appeared to have inclined to a slightly more easterly course than the first ships. As they watched a sudden gap opened up between Isis and Bellona. 'What the devil…?'

'Bellona's aground!' remarked Drinkwater grimly, 'hit the damned Middle Ground and look, by heaven, Russell's followed him!'

'That'll set the cat among the bloody pigeons,' said Rogers.

Chapter Eighteen The Meteor Flag

 2 April 1801, Afternoon

To the watchers on Virago nothing was known of the little drama on Elephant's quarterdeck as Nelson took over the con of the battleship personally. Overhearing the pilots advising the master to leave the grounded Bellona and Russell to larboard the admiral ordered the helm put over the other way, leaving the stricken ships to starboard and averting complete catastrophe. All Drinkwater, Rogers and Easton could see were the leading British ships under their topsails, moving slowly north enveloped in a growing cloud of smoke as gun after gun in the Danish line bore on them. Tumilty and Lettsom had joined the knot of officers on the poop and the Virago's rail was crowded with her people as they watched the cannonade.

Following Elephant were Glatton, Monarch, Defiance and Ganges, weathering the south end of the Middle Ground, while Riou's frigates, led by Amazon, were in line ahead for the entrance to the King's Deep.

Rose's little gun-brigs each with their waspish names: Biter, Sparkler, Tickler,